


After

by flickerblue (saltnhalo)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Likes Dogs, Fluff, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Post-Battle for Detroit (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22730983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/flickerblue
Summary: Connor returns to the DPD Central Station a week after the Battle for Detroit, to find that some things have changed, and some have not.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 135





	After

**Author's Note:**

> yoooo so I finally fuckin played through DBH last week, and holy shit, what an incredible game. i'd die for any of those androids, but especially my man Connor <3 this is not my first fic but it _is_ my first DBH fic, so be kind. unbeta'd. also good god there are a bunch of new fandom tags i have to learn now, why is tagging so hard, send help.
> 
> enjoy!!

Life is different, in the after.

To be honest, Connor still isn’t really used to thinking about his existence as _life_. He hasn’t been deviant for that long, even if it feels like forever—it’s only been eight days, ten hours and forty-three minutes, he tells himself. But still.

It’s a lifetime.

The city is on the brink of changing, falling into the abyss of the unknown and the future after Markus and their people had fought for their liberty.

But Connor? Connor is quite happy to leave the spearheading of the new dynamic between humans and androids to Markus, and return to what he knows and does best.

The Detroit police station has changed, both since the last time Connor was here, and especially since the first time he’d ever stepped foot inside those doors, on that first day when he’d been punched and threatened and had to watch that android self-destruct against his cell wall. There are no android police lining the walls, or tucked into charging stations, and the precinct itself feels… quieter. Full of staff, sure, seeing as there’s so much to do after the Battle of Detroit and the tentative introduction of preliminary laws pertaining to androids, but there’s a hush over the room.

Or maybe that’s just because Connor’s here now.

He can _feel_ the other detectives staring at him as he makes his way over to Hank’s desk. So many sets of eyes, so much emotion in their expressions, some good, some bad. Logically, he knows he could analyze each one of them and figure out exactly what they’re thinking about his return, but part of him (the part that is _deviant_ , that he’s still getting used to and doesn’t always make rational sense) doesn’t want to know.

And so Connor keeps his head down, and keeps walking.

It doesn’t exactly help that he’d elected to retain his android uniform. The taste of human clothing that he’d gotten when he’d infiltrated Jericho had been… interesting, but there’s a reliability and a familiarity in the clothes he’s so accustomed to that he’s not quite ready to give up yet. Maybe someday, but not right now. Not when everything is so fresh and so new and so… _much_.

Hank’s desk, thankfully, is where it always has been, still as cluttered as it had been on Connor’s first day here. He makes his way over to it, and he’s about to sit down in the guest chair and wait, when something catches his attention in the corner of his vision.

The desk opposite Hank’s had been empty, set aside for Connor to borrow since no one had been using it. The name placard had been empty, but now it’s not.

Now, it reads:

_Connor – RK800 #313 248 317_

For a long moment, Connor stands and stares at it—not analyzing, not computing, just looking. There’s something tripping in his program that he’s never felt before, so strong that it’s almost overwhelming.

_This is mine. I earned this._

_I am equal_.

“Oh,” he says, so quietly that he’s surely the only person who hears it, because here is _his desk_ , beside Hank’s. He reaches out to touch the placard, just to make sure that it’s real, and then he _smiles_ , just to himself, but it’s…

 _Happy_.

He feels happy.

“Hey, asshole!”

 _Oh dear_.

Connor only gets a half-second warning before the hand lands on his shoulder. It spins him around, and he comes face to face with Detective Reed, who… does not look pleased to see him.

“Good morning, Detective,” Connor greets him, because if he’s learned anything, it’s that antagonizing Gavin (or even interacting with him at all, but it’s too late for that) doesn’t usually go down well. “Can I help you?”

“’Can I help you?’” Gavin snarls, in a mocking imitation of Connor’s voice. The skin of Gavin’s cheekbone looks healed to the human eye, but Connor can see the spots where the bruising still lingers from that day outside the Archive Room. “I shoulda fuckin’ shot you when I had the chance.” Gavin raises his hands and shoves Connor, knocking him back into the edge of his desk before crowding up close, hands fisted in the lapels of his jacket. “You _helped_ those androids, you _betrayed_ us, and now you have the fucking audacity to show up here again like nothing happened? Like you want a pat on the back and a shiny new desk to show you how well you did?”

Gavin’s stress is rising now, his heartrate high and breathing erratic. The last thing Connor wants is to make a scene on his first day back, his first day as a _real_ detective instead of just some kind of sniffer dog. He quickly starts cycling through his potential options for de-escalating the situation, trying to figure out how to get Gavin to leave him alone before Hank arrives—

And then Gavin reaches for his placard.

Connor doesn’t even think, just reacts, his fingers closing around Gavin’s wrist in a vice grip and stopping him in his tracks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Detective,” he warns quietly.

Gavin stares down at his wrist, enclosed tightly in Connor’s grasp, then back up at Connor, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you fucking joking?” he exclaims with a laugh that sounds like it’s bordering on dangerous. “Don’t think I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in you for insubordination, you plastic piece of shit.”

The fact that Gavin is _still_ pressing, _still_ feels like he’s above Connor… it sets alight in him an indignant anger. This is what he fought for, for recognition and the right to be treated equally, and he’s not going to let some prejudiced asshole push him around any longer.

It would be easy to incapacitate Gavin, to pin him against the desk or drop him on the floor in one of the several dozen ways that Connor’s programming has already planned out, but instead Connor just tightens his grip. He’s gained enough knowledge of humans (and Gavin, in particular) to know that making more of a scene than they already have is only going to further bruise his ego and make him angrier. They do still have to work together, after all, so the less Gavin hates him, the better.

Still, he _does_ squeeze hard enough to feel the bones in Gavin’s wrist creak. Hard enough to make him wince, and to _make sure_ he’s listening.

“I am not your subordinate,” Connor tells him, leaning in close to Gavin’s ear. No one else needs to overhear this conversation. “I am equal now, and I am no longer under anyone’s control. You may have bested me back when I couldn’t even _dream_ of fighting back, but I’m a deviant now. You would do well not to forget that I managed to kill or incapacitate six heavily armed guards in the space of just a few seconds, Detective. I am capable of much more than you give me credit for.”

When he leans back, Gavin’s eyes are wide and angry. The second that Connor loosens his grip, he snatches his hand away, surreptitiously massaging his wrist. Connor can already tell that it may be bruised tomorrow—hopefully it will serve as a reminder that while he may look harmless and unobtrusive, he is not willing to be pushed around any longer.

“I hope that we can be friends one day, Detective,” Connor tells Gavin as he straightens up, genuine sincerity colouring his voice. He clasps his hands behind his back, relaxed once more. “Have a pleasant day.”

Gavin doesn’t say anything. Just stares at Connor for a long few seconds, then turns and walks away.

“What the hell was all that about?”

Hank’s voice is a welcome reprieve from the tension that still lingers in Connor’s programming and the way his thoughts linger on the altercation. Connor turns to face him as he approaches their desks. “Detective Reed still doesn’t like me,” he muses.

They both watch as Gavin disappears into the break room, and then Hank pats Connor on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. If you convinced one grumpy detective that you’re a good guy, you can convince another,” Hank points out as he makes his way around his desk to sit down, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “I’m not as much of an asshole as he is, though.”

“Whatever you say, Hank,” Connor tells him, injecting a careful amount of sarcasm into his words. He’s been slowly learning the concept of teasing from Hank, and it’s immensely satisfying to see the _look_ Hank gives him, like he’s equal parts annoyed and proud.

The reply that he gets is only barely audible, muttered under hank’s breath. “I’m gonna regret teaching you that,” he says quietly, and Connor smiles to himself as he rounds the edge of his own desk to sit in the chair that is now officially his.

“Congrats on the desk, by the way,” Hank pipes up after a few seconds, gesturing vaguely to Connor’s spotlessly clean workspace before turning away and rummaging through his drawers. “Gotcha a little something to make it feel a little more homely after I found out—fuckin’ damn it, where did I put it?”

He straightens back up, brandishing a picture frame in his hand. It’s a cheap model, purchased at the hardware store a block over, if the sticker on the back is anything to go by—but as soon as Connor sees the photo it holds, his analyzing falls to the wayside.

“Sumo!” he exclaims happily as he reaches for the photo, taking it from Hank and holding it up so he can admire it. It’s a photograph of Sumo, taken at the park during the summer. He’s looking up at the camera, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and Connor can’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“Consider it a… desk-warming present,” Hank tells him, his voice gruff, but when Connor looks back up at him, there’s the clear hint of a smile hiding beneath his beard.

“Thank you, Hank.” Connor imbues his words with as much sincerity as he knows how, setting the picture down on his desk in pride of place, right next to the monitor. This must be how it feels to receive a gift, or to experience a pleasant surprise. It feels _good_. “You remembered that I like dogs.”

Hank snorts. “How could I forget?” he mutters, but Connor is getting better at picking up when he’s teasing now. They share a quick moment of amusement, and then Hank turns away, switching on his monitor. “Alright, enough sappy shit. We’ve got work to do—you still remember how to do that, right?”

“Of course,” Connor replies, firing up his monitor with a single thought. After all, he is a proper employee with a desk now, so it’s time for him to earn his keep. Here, in his own space, with the people he trusts, doing what he was built for and what he enjoys.

 _This is where I belong_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed! I had a lot of fun writing this :D


End file.
